Funerals and Forgiveness
by DelaVega209
Summary: A surprise awaits Gibbs right after the death of Director Sheperd. Mostly Gibbs, plus the addition of a non-canon character. Rated T for swearing, just to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

Set just after Jenny dies, minus her house burning down. Completely AU. Just a little thought that skittered through my brain one evening. Mostly Gibbs/OC, with the rest of the team mixed in. No pairings, but lots of Papa Gibbs. I didn't work out timelines/ ages to be cannon, so forgive me. My first fanfic so constructive criticism is welcome. Rated T for language.

Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs heaved a deep sigh as he stood in the mahogany clad entry way of the recently deceased Jennifer Sheperd. _What the hell happened, Jen? _He thought almost angrily. The house was eerily silent, completely devoid of any noise. Even the servants had gone home to grieve. Gibbs took a moment, listening to his own breath as it rattled in and out of his lungs, then turned to the left and slowly entered the large office he knew so well.

Despite the fact that Jasper Sheperd had been dead for the better part of two decades, this room that once belonged to him still smelled of expensive cigars and brandy. But it also smelled of her. The slight fragrance of French perfume met his nostrils with a flood of unwanted emotion. She had first acquired her taste for the expensive spray when they were working together in Paris. _Paris was where we first. . ._ He stopped his train of thought abruptly. _Too many memories. _

His eyes roamed over the papers on top of the massive desk till something caught his eye. The scrawling, feminine writing he knew so well barely shown below a stack of typed, official looking forms. _Dear Jethro._ He plucked it from beneath the papers and was disappointed to see that was where she stopped. The former marine wondered what was so difficult that Jenny felt she needed to express herself in a note instead of a conversation. It just wasn't like her.

Just then a sound caught his attention. His hand instinctively went to the pistol on his hip as his ears trained on the sound. There it was again. It wasn't loud enough or rhythmic enough to be footsteps. It was coming from the back of the house where Gibbs knew the sitting room to be. Slowly sliding the Sig from his holster, he held it at the low ready as he moved silently down the hall.

The sound got louder as he approached the sitting room. Just before he rounded the last corner, he just barely caught the glimpse of a uniformed figure standing in front of the fireplace, absently poking at a log with a wrought iron tool.

"Freeze, NCIS!" Gibbs called out as he entered the room, the muzzle of his firearm trained on the man's back.

The young man spun around, startled, his eyes growing large as he took in the gun.

One side of the boy's uniform identified him as a Marine, the other declaring his last name to be Sheperd.

"Who are you?" Gibbs demanded.

"I'm Director Sheperd's son," the boy's tone was bordering on angry. "Who the hell are you?"

Gibbs didn't let the muzzle of his gun move even an inch. "Jenny didn't have a son."

The red rimmed eyes, slumped shoulders, and exhausted features were a testament to the pure hell the boy was going through. He dropped heavily onto the nearest love seat, resting his elbows on his knees. "Look. I don't have time to argue my existence right now. I just came to get a few things." A pause, then, "But while you're here, maybe you could help me?"

Having decided the boy wasn't a threat, Gibbs slid his firearm back into it's holster. "How's that?"

"Tell me how I can get a hold of an Agent Jethro Gibbs."

"Yeah. I can do that."

Corporal Sheperd eyed the older man wearily. He really had no desire to play head games.

"You're looking at him," Gibbs finally finished.

And odd mixture of emotions flitted across the boy's face as Gibbs watched. Was that fear he saw?

The teenage marine stood, turning to face the agent. "Well, then, it's nice to meet you." He extended a hand. "I'm Matt."

Gibbs couldn't completely hide his confusion as he took the firm handshake. Was he supposed to know this kid?

Matt looked incredibly disappointed, his shoulders slumping. "I take it from your expression that my mom never got around to telling you."

"Nope," was all Gibbs could think of to say.

"Ah. Well, she was supposed to explain a few things before she. . ." he couldn't bring himself to say it.

"Like what?"

Matt took a seat on the love seat again. Gibbs noticed he would no longer look at him. "Uh, well, it's, uh, a. . ."

"Spit it out, Marine,"

"Geez, I wish she would've told you," Matt said under his breath, but loud enough for Gibbs to hear.

"Tell me what?" Gibbs was quickly losing patients.

"That I'm her son."

"You already told me that!"

The boy was quiet a moment, his features full of apprehension. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "But I'm also yours." His eyes flicked to the older man's face, then down again to the coffee table in front of him. It wasn't complete surprise that he saw there- almost like this man half expected it.

Never one for words, Gibbs had no idea what to say. The boy was obviously expecting him to say _something_. But what could possibly be appropriate right now? His mind whirled with memories and possibilities. _Why wouldn't she tell me? After all this time, why wouldn't she tell me?_ The revelation changed everything, to be sure, but at the moment, his mind just wouldn't wrap around it. At the same time, he realized it wasn't really the shock it should have been. Gazing intently at the boy, he saw the eyes were his own. The height and build were his. The nose and mouth belonged to his mother, but most everything else was his. _His_ son.

Suddenly feeling very tired, he plopped next to the boy on the sofa, an uneasy silence building between them. "Ah, hell," Gibbs blurted out of pure frustration, standing back to his feet to start pacing the spacious room. "Why the hell didn't somebody tell me? Why didn't your mom tell me?"

Matt couldn't meet the older man's eyes. Not knowing this man, he didn't know yet that most of his deepest emotions came across as anger. Understandably, he thought he was truly mad. "She didn't want. . .you to know," he gulped.

"Don't you think I might have had a _right_ to know!"

"I'm sorry, Agent Gibbs."

The pure remorse he heard in the young man's voice was enough to take the heat out of his tone. He sat next to the boy again, giving him a light clap on his uniformed knee. "Ah, it's not your fault, Matt." Another uncomfortable silence befell the two. "So, a Marine, huh?" Gibbs asked, painfully aware of how lame it sounded.

"Part time," Matt said simply. "I was on reserve weekend when. . .well, you know." Another pause, then, "What happened, Agent Gibbs? Was it her doing? Could she have made it out?"

Gibbs wasn't entirely sure he knew what the kid was asking. "I'm not sure. But I'll find out."

"I was afraid something like this would happen."

"Part of the job," Gibbs answered.

Matt shook his head. Gibbs noticed just a touch of moisture collecting in the corners of the boy's eyes. "It didn't have to be, Agent Gibbs. I think I know that. Ever since her diagnosis, I suspected she would do something like this."

Gibbs had suspected an illness for quite some time, but this was his first outright confirmation. "What diagnosis?"

"She was good at keeping secrets, wasn't she?" Matt gave a small, tired smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Cancer. Stage 4 by the time she caught it. She only had weeks left."

"Damn," Gibbs seethed. "Never should have taught her rule four."

"Rule four?"

Gibbs turned his head to look at his new found offspring. "Best way to keep a secret is to keep it to yourself."

Matt smiled. "Yup. She definitely learned that one."

"So you live here?" Gibbs took advantage of the temporary reprieve in the awkwardness.

"Oh. No. I haven't lived here since-geez-I think I was fourteen."

"Where were you?"

"Military school mostly. Mom was always wanting me to come home. I liked being away."

"So where do you live now?"

Matt shrugged. "Here, I guess."

"You guess?"

"I _was_ going to school in Pennsylvania."

"Was?"

"I, uh, informed the dean yesterday that I wouldn't be returning." He absently rubbed his temple.

Though he knew he had no right to express any real paternal concern over this boy, it came bubbling to the surface all the same. "You what?" Gibbs exclaimed before he could stop himself.

The boy looked away again, his gaze once again falling on the coffee table, giving a small shrug. "I didn't really want to be a doctor anyway. And it's not like I'm losing much. It's only second semester of my freshman year."

"So that makes you what, eighteen? Nineteen?"

"Nineteen."

"Plenty of time to go back to school."

"Yeah, I guess."

Yet another awkward silence fell between them. "You hungry?" Gibbs asked, an action plan finally forming in his mind.

Matt just shook his head.

"Have you eaten today?"

The boy looked his father in the eyes for perhaps the first time since they met, but quickly averted his gaze. "Haven't really had time."

Gibbs let out a sigh. "Grab your bag and let's go," he said standing up.

Matt hesitated for a fraction of a second before getting to his feet. He thought to protest, but quickly thought better of it. He didn't want to stay in the house alone with nothing but the memory of his mother to keep him company. His emotions were already teetering on a razor thin edge, sure to go over the edge with just another hour or so with nothing to do but think.

Grabbing the camouflage backpack he hadn't had a chance to unpack yet, he broke into a jog to catch up with the older man as he heard the sound of an engine start in the driveway.

"Where're we going?" Matt asked once he was securely seated in the old Ford pickup.

"Home," Gibbs answered simply.

So there's chapter one. Please read and review. Hopefully I will get enough people who like it that I will continue it. Future chapters are sure to include lots of trouble for our newest Gibblet, a few dead colonels, and of course some super sleuthing from the team.


	2. Chapter 2

Sorry this is such a short chapter! Action is up ahead in chapter 3 so stick with me here. Any suggestions/comments/critiques, whether they be good, bad, or indifferent would be appreciated.

It didn't take but one quick glance around his father's house to know that he must be the exact opposite of his mother. His mother's house was full of dark wood paneling, expensive area rugs, and was packed to the gills with furniture. This house, however, was sparsely furnished. Every wall was white. The only wood to be seen was the hard wood floor. No pictures hung on the walls, no houseplants sat on sideboards or window sills. It was enough, Matt decided, but just barely.

"You can sleep there," Gibbs pointed to a comfortable looking couch with a pillow and blanket already neatly placed near an arm rest. When the boy gave no acknowledgement the older man decided a different course of action was needed.

"Dinner'll be ready in twenty. Shower's upstairs- second door on the right. Clean towels are under the sink."

Without a word, the exhausted young man drug his heavy feet up the steps and down the short hall, exhaling a sigh when he was safely behind the bathroom door. He let himself fall into a seated position on the edge of the bathtub, taking a moment to scrub his face with his hands. _What just happened_? One minute he was on a transport tanker to DC to arrange his mother's funeral. The next he's standing in a stranger's house under the brand new knowledge that it belonged to his biological father. He allowed himself to sit there a minute more before mustering up the energy to carry through with a much needed shower.

A hot, relaxing shower almost always made him feel better- but not his time. He stood motionless, both hands extended to the opposite wall as water so hot it turned his back red beat down on him. He didn't care that it burned slightly. The pain of his heart was more than enough to take his mind off any pain he may have felt to his body. He had no idea how long he stood there like that, his mind completely numb, when he heard two sharp raps on the door.

"You okay?" He heard his father call.

Matt snapped out of his trance just enough to give a "Yeah. Fine. Be right out."

"Dinner's ready," Gibbs called as he turned to start back down the stairs.

The young man washed and dried as fast as his exhausted body would allow, then pulled on a well worn pair of USMC sweatpants and a Penn State t-shirt. He would have been perfectly content to curl up in a corner of the bathroom and sleep for a week or two, but was pretty sure that the man downstairs would have something to say about that. Taking a quick look in the mirror, he smoothed his hair with his hands and made his way downstairs.

He found Gibbs seated on the sofa, two plates in front of him, each with a slab of freshly grilled steak on it.

"You like steak?" Gibbs asked.

Matt again smoothed his wet hair. "Uh, yeah, but I'm really not hungry."

Gibbs eyed him intensely. "Didn't ask if you were hungry. Eat."

Matt all but collapsed onto the sofa, his body suddenly feeling very heavy. He tentatively looked at the steak in front of him, suppressing a gag that inexplicably crept its way up his throat. He usually loved steak.

"I have to work tomorrow," Gibbs began, noticing the boy growing weaker by the minute, "but if you want, I can meet you at the funeral home on my lunch break."

Matt sat back into the cushions, allowing some of the tension in his shoulders to dissolve. "That's alright. I can handle it." He closed his eyes for just a moment. _Just until the nausea passes_, he told himself. It wasn't even a full five minutes later that his father heard the first soft snores emanating from his son.

Gibbs couldn't help the small frown that tugged at the corners of his lips. The kid was exhausted physically and emotionally, and understandably so. He hadn't eaten anything all day, probably hadn't slept in several. Gibbs noticed he had become increasingly distant as the evening had worn on. _Shock_, Gibbs thought. The loss of your mother was a big enough adjustment to make, but then to meet your father for the first time just the next day? _The kid's going through hell. Damn it, Jen! Why didn't you tell me?" _

The former marine finished his dinner in silence then covered his sleeping son with the blanket already on the couch. Just as silently, he turned out the light and made his way to the basement. _If there was ever a time for boats and bourbon, this is it._


	3. Chapter 3

_Sorry for the long wait, it's been a crazy week. I am hoping to get chapter 4 up either tomorrow or the next day_. _As always, tell me what you think_.

Chapter 3

Days went by in a blur for both the young marine and his former marine father. Matt didn't really remember the funeral besides the look and feel of the casket, and the pure and utter agony it had been. His father had been there, of course, standing beside him, but he had been too occupied consoling members of his team to be of much support. Which was fine in Matt's eyes. The two had spent whole days together- Matt hadn't been back to his mom's house since that first night- and yet they just couldn't seem to cross the chasm that separated them.

As it usually does, day by day, and little by little, the agony turned into hurt, and the hurt turned into a dull, manageable throb. Matt had tried several times to assure his father that he was alright and more than capable of living by himself. He even had a house waiting for him. A house that was filled with his mother's memory, but his none the less. Gibbs wouldn't hear of it. The team leader had rationalized his adamant stance against Matt leaving by telling himself that it was best for the boy to stay, at least until he had a steady job and a way of supporting himself. Once or twice, when he was alone with his boat, he admitted to himself that he liked having the kid around. He liked how the house felt alive again, and he was gonna be damned if he let this boy walk out of his life without a backward glance. Gibbs was convinced that was exactly what would happen if he let him move back into Jenny's place. He wasn't pretending that their relationship was going well- or at all- but he owed it to the kid to try till they were both absolutely certain it would just never work. _God help us if he's half as stubborn as I am,_ Gibbs thought, a small, almost mischievous smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

A new week had brought an onslaught of work for the federal agent. A serial killer had made his presence known in DC, picking out servicemen to first beat, and then hang by the neck on any nearby tree that was strong enough to do the job. By Tuesday night, Special Agent Gibbs was exhausted. As had been the ritual for three days, he returned home late, well after ten pm. He expected to see Matt already asleep on the sofa, and was more than a little surprised when he wasn't there.

Gibbs' famous gut started churning. The kid had no doubt gone back to his mom's house. Getting him back again would be nearly impossible, Gibbs knew. He cursed under his breath just as a very small sound penetrated his rising anger.

Carefully avoiding the floorboards he knew creaked, the older man slipped through the kitchen and pulled open the basement door. Every light was burning in the small room and Gibbs could see a lone figure leaning against a boat rib.

Gibbs exhaled a sigh of relief and quickly trotted down the steps. He was not, however, expecting the sight that met him.

Matt stood, holding himself tight against the exposed rib of the boat in progress, a mostly empty bottle of bourbon in his left hand. His hair was sticking up at every angle and his eyes were bloodshot and droopy. His posture told Gibbs that he had been down there drinking for some time now.

The father who tended toward the protective side could have easily been angry at the blatant disregard for the law. Instead, he silently chastised himself. Gibbs knew of this kind of grief management all too well. _Must be hereditary_, he thought. _How did I miss it? _Gibbs knew that, like him, Matt had deflected the worry and pity of others simply by appearing to everyone that he was coping just fine. Gibbs also knew that problems with this particular coping method arose when one found himself alone- when long pent up emotions broke through their fragile restraint for no other reason than the lack of another human being present.

"Hey, kiddo," Gibbs tried to keep his tone light. "You okay?"

Matt looked at his father with what could only be described as contempt. "Now thas a supid question," the boy slurred. "''Curse em fine. Em always fine."

Gibbs noticed him sway as he spoke and moved in closer. "What are you doing down here?"

"Dringing," Matt wouldn't meet the older man's face. "And. . thinging."

Gibbs took a seat on the edge of the boat, throwing his shoulders back as he readied himself for what he knew could be a long night. "Yeah? What're you thinking about, Matt?"

Matt took three staggering steps toward the workbench, spinning suddenly to glare at his father. "It's really none of your business, Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs winced. There was that damned name again. Ever since he had met the boy, it had never been "Gibbs", or even "Jethro", and certainly not "dad." It was always "Agent Gibbs." He was growing to hate the title, especially coming out of the mouth of someone he was supposed to have some sort of family-type relationship with.

"Thinking about your mom?" Gibbs pushed. He knew he hit a nerve when he saw the boy's eyes start to glisten with moisture, then suddenly set in a hard glare. Still he remained obstinately quiet. He walked back to the boat, plopping himself down next to the older man. His chin quivered ever so slightly. Gibbs knew he was dangerously close to the edge- _hopefully,_ Gibbs thought, _too close to turn back._

When he finally did speak, his voice was choked, just above a whisper. Two lone tears trekked down his cheeks. "God, I miss her, dad."

For just a fraction of a second, the mighty Leroy Jethro Gibbs froze. No one had actually called him that for years. For over a week now he had hoped to hear it come from this boy, but now was completely unprepared for it. But what truly sent chills down his spine was the desperate, unsaid plea in the young man's voice. Gibbs reached out and put an arm around his son's shoulders, pulling him in for an awkward hug.

"Me, too, kiddo. Me, too."

They stayed that way for just a moment, but both men couldn't help but feel the chasm was now rapidly closing.

Matt was the first to pull away, looking around the cramped room as if for the first time. "Hey, dad," he started off slow, desperately trying not to slur his words.

"Hmm?"

"Why do you have a boat in your basement?"

Gibbs shrugged. "Wouldn't fit in the kitchen."

The first genuine smile Gibbs had ever seen on the boy's face crossed his lips then. _And that, too_, the older man mused, _is just like mine__._

"I think I had better go to bed," the young man announced, attempting to stand, but only succeeding in swaying.

"Yeah," Gibbs replied, readying himself to catch the unsteady youth. "I think you'd better."

Matt stumbled his way to the first step before his father's voice once again stopped him.

"Matt," the older man called. When the boy glanced over his shoulder, Gibbs continued. "You ever get drunk again, I'll kick your ass."

Matt's shoulders slumped. It obviously wasn't the sappy rhetoric he was expecting. "Oh that. Yeah. Gotcha." He then proceeded to climb the steps very slowly and cautiously.

In the week that he had been staying with his father, Matt had almost grown accustomed to the un-godly hour that Gibbs woke every morning. When he heard the coffee pot hiss, he tentatively opened one eye, fully expecting to be assaulted by a hangover headache. When no such pain presented itself, he opened the other eye, then pushed himself into a seated position. There was no denying that his stomach was protesting the massive amounts of alcohol it had been forced to digest. His limbs, too, didn't seem to want to move according to what his brain was telling them.

_A run,_ he thought,_ should get me feeling better. And an aspirin. I need an aspirin._

Fifteen minutes later the youth was decked from head to toe in sweats proclaiming his involvement with the US Marine Corps.

"Dad! I'm going for a run!" He called toward the kitchen where he knew his dad was drinking his fourth cup of coffee. He thought he heard a reply of some sort, but was already in the process of closing the front door behind himself.

Gibbs was in the middle of telling his son the usual, "Be careful! I'll see you after work!" spiel when he heard the door slam.

"Morning, Boss," Special Agent Timothy McGee greeted when the team leader walked into the bullpen, the ever-present cup of coffee in his hand.

"What've we got McGee?" Gibbs asked the youngest member of his team.

McGee's gaze slid toward Tony who was hunched over his keyboard. "We, um, we haven't. . ."

Having pity on the very inexperienced agent, Tony snapped his head up. "What McStammer means to say, Boss, is that we don't have squat."

"What have you two been doing all morning?" Gibbs demanded.

Tony visibly cringed. "What I meant was we don't have squat yet." He spat out quickly. "Ducky is still doing the autopsy on Petty Officer Cullen. Abby's doing whatever Abby does on the rope fibers we got off the victims."

"And you, DiNozzo?" Gibbs was standing nose to nose with his senior field agent.

"I'm, uh, about to do a complete background on the victims."

Gibbs nodded. "McGee?"

"Attempting to pull up a list of cell numbers that were in the park at the time of the murders."

"Good. Ziva?"

The Mossad liaison looked slightly uncomfortable. "I can go over statements of people who were nearby at the time?"

Gibbs nodded again. "Keep on it," he said as he spun on a heel and started to leave. Before he could take two steps, his desk phone rang.

"Yeah, Gibbs." He answered. The conversation only lasted a few seconds before the ex-marine hung up. He immediately opened his desk drawer, pulling out his sidearm and sliding it into the holster on his waist. Even before the words came out his mouth, the entire team knew what was coming. "Gear up," he called out.

"Another body?" Tony asked, almost shocked as he and his two other partners grabbed their packs and all but ran for the elevator.

"Did I say it was another body, DiNozzo?" Gibbs replied just before stepping into the elevator car.

"Well, no. . .then what?"

"Our killer just screwed up, that's what."

The two black chargers full of NCIS agents pulled up to the crime scene and screeched to a halt. Local police officers had already cordoned off a large area of a tree infested, slightly neglected hiking park. A single ambulance sat in the middle of it, its rear doors open. Two EMT's were actively working on a young man sitting on the bumper.

"Another jogger called it in- said she heard the scuffle," A detective by the name of Scott filled the team in. "She was a ways away- didn't actually see anything, but said it sounded like someone was dying."

"The victim?" Gibbs asked, his notepad at the ready.

"Corporal Matthew Shepherd, USMC, 19, lives just down the block. EMT's are patching him up now."

Gibbs didn't hear anything but the name. _His _Matthew Shepherd? As if they had a mind of their own, his feet automatically moved toward the parked ambulance. He mentally steeled himself, even as his gut started to churn uncontrollably.


	4. Chapter 4

As he feared, although highly suspected, his only son sat on the bumper of the ambulance. His lip had been badly split. One eye was threatening to swell shut, while the other was so bloodshot it startled the seasoned investigator. His head had obviously been beaten mercilessly, as was evident by the stream of dried blood that trekked past his left ear, till it disappeared beneath his t-shirt. But what stopped the team leader in his tracks were the angry red welts that encompassed the boy's neck.

Gibbs walked up and propped a foot on the bumper next to his son. "How is he?" he asked the middle aged EMT named E. Carson.

Matt's eyes grew wide when the EMT allowed him to turn his head and look at who was addressing him. "Dad," his tone was almost remorseful. "I'm okay."

Gibbs shot him an "I didn't ask you" glare, and turned his attention toward Carson. "He needs stitches to close the laceration on his head. A doctor should check his esophagus, make sure no damage was done. He should be just fine, but it was close. We're ready to transport as soon as you're done with him."

Gibbs nodded. "I'll take him. He's one of mine."

Carson shrugged, but didn't argue the issue. Without another word he stepped into the vehicle and busied himself with cleaning up.

"What are you doing here?" Matt asked, not bothering to hide his surprise.

Gibbs intensified his glare as he stepped into the young man's personal space. "Wondering why you didn't call me!"

Matt's eyes suddenly dove toward the dirt. "It just . . . it happened pretty quick."

"Go get in the car." Gibbs' concern for the welfare of his child made it come out as a demand.

"Dad, I'm fine. Really."

Gibbs was losing patients. "It wasn't a request, Matt! Go!" For just a second, he thought the boy was actually going to defy him, and readied himself with one of his most deadly glares. To his credit, the wounded young man pushed himself to his feet and slowly wandered toward the parked charger.

"DiNozzo!" The team leader barked as soon as his son was on his way.

Tony jogged the twenty or so yards to where his boss was standing. "Yeah, Boss?"

"I'm taking him to the hospital," he jerked a head toward Matt's retreating back.

Tony gave a small, confused smile. "Why doesn't the ambulance take him?"

A patented "Gibbs glare" was all it took to close his senior field agent's mouth. "I need you to process the scene." Gibbs began. "And I mean _everything_, DiNozzo. I want the particles this bastard breathed bagged and tagged."

"On it, Boss."

The ride to the hospital was totally silent, as was the majority of the hospital visit itself. Matt sat quiet and still while a half dozen doctors put him through as many tests. Gibbs simply watched, his concern not abating, and his gut still churning. The doctors had finally declared the young man fit enough to go home, with strict orders to rest for a few days. The cut on his head had taken fourteen stitches to sufficiently close, and the blow that had caused it also inflicted a minor concussion. The doctors found there to be no major or permanent damage done to his throat. It would bruise for sure, and the muscles would no doubt be more than a little sore, but it would heal.

Matt didn't bother asking where they were going when his father failed to take the exit that would have led them home. The scowl on Gibbs' face had not faded even a little since the first time Matt saw him at the ambulance. What the boy couldn't understand was why the older man was mad at him in the first place. He didn't wake up that morning saying to himself, "_Gee, it sure would be a great day to get beat senseless and almost hung." _He didn't understand how any of it was his fault, but obviously his father thought otherwise.

Matt followed obediently behind his father as he was led past security into the NCIS building, then straight away into an upstairs conference room. He watched as his father poured him a glass of water from the pitcher on the table and set it in front of him. "Stay here," he said simply, then walked out of the room.

Matt folded his arms on the tabletop, then let his head drop into them. He was suddenly feeling very tired. The adrenaline of the morning was wearing off quickly now, leaving him with a massive headache, a sore throat, and a face that felt like it was on fire.

"What've we got?" Gibbs demanded, harsher then usual as he entered the bullpen.

The entire team was standing around the big screen plasma TV, staring at three side by side pictures. The first was of Petty Officer Cullen, the middle was a picture of their John Doe, the third a photo of his son.

"No ID on our second victim yet," Ziva started the SitRep. "They seem to have nothing in common except their chosen jogging route."

"And their branch of the military," McGee added. "One sailor, two Marines. No Air Force, no Army. Hardly seems like a coincidence."

"Ah, but only two were active duty military," Tony pointed out what he had found out. "Corporal Shepherd is. . ."

"A reserve," Gibbs finished for him. He felt, rather than saw, the eyes of his team on him.

"Yeah," Tony finished, always amazed at how his boss was endlessly a step ahead of them. "And the weird thing is, I could swear I've seen him before, I just don't remember where."

"You have," Gibbs answered his senior field agent. "At Director Shepherd's funeral."

Tony snapped his fingers excitedly. "That's where it was! But wait . . . how do you know that, Boss?"

"Because I took him there, DiNozzo," Gibbs took a long sip of his coffee.

"Why would you. . ." McGee cut in, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Because . . . he's my son," Gibbs let it out as casually as he could, hoping to soften the blow to his team. It didn't help. All three agents fell deathly silent, their eyes darting around to each other for confirmation, making sure they had heard what their boss had just told them correctly.

"Your . . . son?" Tony was the first to break the tangible silence.

"I didn't stutter, DiNozzo," Gibbs took another long pull from his coffee cup.

"But how?" McGee, also, found his voice.

Gibbs opened his mouth to explain, but Ziva beat him to it. "Corporal _Shepherd_. Then you and Director Shepherd . . . had this son in common, yes?"

"Yes, Ziva," Gibbs replied with just a hint of irritation. "I met him week before last."

Questions filled their eyes, but they kept their mouth's shut. Pushing Gibbs for too many answers was always dangerous. They would, like always, find out when Gibbs was ready- or whenever Abby got it out of their fearless leader and decided to spill the beans- whichever came first.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs barked. "He's in the conference room. Get his statement."

"Me, Boss?" Tony asked incredulously. When Gibbs shot him a murderous glare, he added. "On it, Boss." And quickly left the bullpen, almost happy for the distraction.


	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you, everyone, for the reviews, and for adding this to your alerts/favorites. On a side note, please pray for my Mother-in-law who is going in for major open heart surgery tomorrow (Monday). I know she will be fine, but a few extra prayers never hurt a thing, right? So forgive me if it takes a few days to get another chapter posted, as I will be spending the next few days at the hospital. _

Chapter 5

Tony took his time ascending the stairs to the conference room. He hoped it would give him a few more moments to get his game face on- it was taking more effort then usual this time. If he were honest with himself, the handsome Italian would admit that he still felt a twinge of guilt over Jenny's death. _Okay, maybe a little more than a twinge_. He thought he had finally gotten over the worst of it. With the funeral over, everything was beginning to get back to "normal." It had helped Tony's guilty conscience to know that she wasn't married, and had no children. The only people who mourned her were those she worked with. She was loved, for sure, but there was a certain amount of comfort knowing that she didn't leave a widower, or an orphan. Or so he thought. _Just GREAT. Sometimes this job just sucks_.

Heaving a deep sigh, he plastered his best smile on his face and opened the door.

"Corporal Shepherd," Tony began casually, extending a hand. "I'm Agent Anthony DiNozzo. Good to see you again, though I wish it were under better circumstances."

Matt took the offered hand, giving it a firm shake. He had heard about this man. "Yeah, thanks. And it's just Matt."

DiNozzo flashed another of his famous smiles. "Okay. You can call me Tony." His words felt awkward, his motions forced. He desperately hoped he was pulling off his "easy and relaxed" act, but feared he was failing miserably. He found he was having a hard time looking the boy in the eyes. They were Gibbs' eyes, Tony realized. How did he not see it before? The eyes, the posture, even the mannerisms screamed Gibbs. His hair was darker, obviously, but not as dark as his boss' was before it mostly went gray. After closer examination, Tony realized his hair was almost black, but numerous red highlights throughout made it look dark brown. Tony swallowed hard. He obviously got the natural red highlights from his mom.

"I just need you to tell me what happened," Tony began, digging a pen and notepad from his inside jacket pocket.

Normally the youth would have thought of something witty to say to hide his nervousness, but he was just too tired. So instead he ran a dirty hand through his hair, wincing when it reached the newly installed line of stitches, and heaved a deep, exhausted sigh.

"I went for a run this morning around 0630. I usually stay on pavement, but decided to give that little park a try. Guess it was a bad idea. I was . . . well, where you found me, when something tripped me. Before I could look and see what it was, two guys jumped me. I saw them sitting on the bench, but didn't pay attention. Didn't think I needed to, you know? After that, all I remember is fists coming at me from every direction. And something big and hard hitting me. A rock, maybe? I don't think it was a baseball bat or anything like that. They hit me over the head with it. I guess it was supposed to knock me out, cause the bigger of the two guys started cussing when it didn't. The little guy put a rope around my neck and they tried to stand me up. Of course I was fighting like crazy. I remember the rope getting tight around my throat. I was up on my tiptoes when I remembered the knife in my pocket. I cut the rope and the two guys ran away."

"Which way did they go?" DiNozzo asked.

Matt shook his head. "I don't know. I didn't see."

"Would you be able to recognize them if you saw them again?"

"I don't know. Maybe. They were wearing hoods and sunglasses. Sorry, I know I wasn't the best witness."

Tony fixed him with a sympathetic gaze, offering a reassuring smile. "You did great, considering."

Matt's eyes dropped to the table top. He could see his reflection in the polished surface and almost winced at his appearance. "Then why is my dad mad at me?"

If it were possible, the senior field agent's heart broke even more for the boy. "Aw, I don't think he's mad at you." When the only reply he got from his young friend was an eyebrow raised in disbelief, he went on. "Gibbs has a . . . unique way of showing concern, or any emotion, really. On the rare occasion that he feels actual emotions, which is rare, he expresses it as anger. Give it a little while, you'll get used to it."

"Yeah." Was all Matt could think of to say.

An awkward silence fell on the two men. Everything in Tony's mind was screaming at him to get out of the room- tell the kid the standard, "we'll be in touch if we have anymore questions," and head back to the safety of the bullpen. His heart, on the other hand, just wouldn't let him leave. The kid deserved answers, didn't he? The problem was he deserved the kind of answers that Tony didn't want to fully admit to.

"Look, Matt," DiNozzo began slowly and deliberately, "I'm sorry about your mom,"

Matt's head snapped up to meet the older man's eyes and saw genuine regret there. "Thanks."

Tony knew he could have easily let it go at that. He silently cursed his conscience for its dogged persistence. "I was there that day," he said quickly, rubbing a hand on his forehead. "I could have- should have- done more. I'm sorry."

The youth returned Tony's steady gaze with a glare that would have made his father proud. "It was her choice, Tony. You couldn't have saved her. No one could have."

Pure and utter confusion flickered in the investigator's eyes for just a moment. "I was supposed to protect her. I didn't."

Unfortunately, like his father, Matt also had a temper. It was also unfortunate that it chose then to rear its ugly head. "She was sick, DiNozzo! She didn't want to die in a hospital bed hooked to a million wires! She _chose_ how she ended it!" Matt stood to his feet, pushing the office chair back with more force than was absolutely necessary. He turned toward the window to hide the mist of tears that had erupted at the corners of his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was soft but still held an angry edge. "It wasn't your fault, Tony. So if you're thinking there's some sort of forgiveness I need to give you, you're wrong."

Anthony DiNozzo, Jr. wasn't a man who was prone to speechlessness. None the less, he was completely speechless just then. He opened and closed his mouth numerous times, each time intending to say _something_, then realizing that he had no idea what to say. "Alright," he said finally, fully aware of how lame it sounded. "I'll, uh, get back to you if I need anything more. About the case, of course."

Matt never turned around, but knew by the soft "click" of the door that DiNozzo was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

_Sorry for the long wait on this chapter. It's been a heck of a week! And sorry if Abby is out of character- I just don't know how to write her! More action coming soon._

Matt didn't bother turning away from the window a few minutes later when the door opened again. He knew by the sudden but faint smell of coffee that his father was standing behind him.

"Can I go now?" He asked, his arms crossed across his chest.

"Nope," his father said simply. When the boy turned to meet his gaze, annoyance written on his face, his father continued, "We've been assigned a security detail at the Jefferson Center- Admiral's Convention."

"I'll grab a cab home." Matt responded with a shrug.

"No," Gibbs said again. "I want you here, kiddo. Just till we figure out what's going on."

"Aw, come on, Dad! That's a little much, don't you think? The guys that jumped me don't know where I _live_!"

Gibbs' eyes hardened into a deadly glare. "They didn't _jump_ you, Matt, they tried to _kill_ you! Came damn close, too! And you don't know if they know where you live! Until we do, I don't want you alone!"

Matt opened his mouth to say something, but quickly thought better of it. "I should be back in about six hours." Gibbs explained, bringing his tone back to a conversational level. "Abby's coming up to take you to the lab. She'll keep you out of trouble till I get back. I'll see you later tonight." He spun on a heel and headed back toward the door. Just before he stepped into the hallway, he stopped long enough to say, "She has a futon down there. You should use it."

Matt had just taken a seat at the table and put his head down on the cool tabletop when the door opened once again. He turned his head to one side, opening just one eye. He visibly startled when the only thing that filled his vision were bare legs, with just a strip of black cloth and silver chains. He sat bolt upright, then winced at the pain it caused.

"I'm so sorry!" Abby began, "I didn't mean to scare you." She threw her arms around the young man without a second thought. "It's so awesome to meet you!"

"Thanks, and it's not your fault," Matt managed to squeak through the lung crushing embrace.

The goth scientist pulled away suddenly, sizing up her new charge. "You, follow me," she motioned with her hand, then turned toward the door and marched out.

"Wow," Matt exclaimed, looking around the lab, "You have everything!"

"Yup," Abby answered confidently, "These are my babies."

"Is there anything I can help you with?"

Abby gave him a sideward glance that he didn't know how to read. "And call the wrath of Gibbs down on me?"

Matt flashed her an almost embarrassed smile. "What?"

The woman then grabbed the boy by the hand, leading him to the other end of the room where a black futon mattress was partially concealed under a counter top. "Bossman gave me explicit orders to make sure you rest. I take his orders _very_ seriously. Now rest, mister."

Matt rolled his eyes, but knew it was all for show. His body ached all over and he could think of nothing that sounded more pleasant than sleep. He made a grand gesture of slapping his hands against his thighs. "Alright. But I'm only doing this to keep you out of trouble. I wouldn't want my big, bad dad after you." He said, crawling onto the comfortable mat.

Abby tried to hide a snicker and failed miserably. "What?" Matt demanded in a joking tone.

The young woman crossed her legs and sank to the floor, Indian-style. "It just sounds so funny."

"What?"

Abby snickered again. "That Gibbs is your dad. I mean, this is Gibbs we're talking about. It's so weird."

Matt gingerly put an arm behind his throbbing head and looked up at the stark white ceiling. "Yeah, tell me about it."

The young scientist scrutinized the boy in front of her like a science experiment. "So what's it like?"

The marine's eyebrows knitted together as he pondered the question. "Oh, it's not that bad. It took awhile to get used to the human heart he has for breakfast every morning. But it probably makes up for his lack of one."

Abby's jaw dropped around a small, amused smile. "Matthew Gibbs! You should be ashamed of yourself!" She teased.

Matt was taken aback, the easy smile instantly gone. He had never once put his first name with his father's last name. He supposed it was his last line of defense in case things just didn't work out. It wasn't a good excuse, he realized, but it was the best he had.

"I'm pretty tired, Abby. I think I'll get some sleep."

"You got it," she said cheerfully, then left for her computer.

Matt didn't know how long he had been asleep. What he _did_ know was that he felt like a train wreck. The muscles in his neck were so sore he was afraid to even swallow. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. His scalp around the stitches was on fire. He groaned despite his best efforts to keep from it. Then he heard it- a soft, accented voice calling him. He carefully and slowly turned his head, which he was positive would fall off in the process, and saw a very kindly looking, older man kneeling next to him,

"Ah, there you are, my dear boy," the man said, "I'm Dr. Mallard, the medical examiner. Jethro wanted me to check in on you while he's away."

"Of course he did," Matt snapped back before he could give it a thought.

"It will only take a moment."

Matt sat up with more than a little effort, though he thought he hid the worst of his struggle quite well. "I'm fine, Doctor. Just a little sore."

The ME scrutinized him closely. "I see you have inherited your father's stubborn streak, as well as his eyes."

The young man could think of no good rebuke, so wisely chose to keep his mouth shut. He sat mostly quiet through the brief exam, only voicing a strong protest when the doctor reached for his throat. Matt couldn't stand anyone touching his neck. It had been bad enough that the ER doctor had had both hands around his throat at one point, which was made possible by his father pinning both arms to his sides.

Dr. Mallard gave the boy a confused look, pulling his hand away. He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by a loud alarm on Abby's computer.

"Gotcha," Abby said out loud to no one in particular.

"Got what?" Matt asked, happy for the distraction.

"The fingerprints Gibbs sent back from the Admiral's Convention. Looks like our stealth killer isn't so stealth after all."

"What?" Matt couldn't hide his surprise. "There's been a murder at the Admiral's Convention?"

"Two, actually," Abby said casually. "But I got 'em now."

With a groan and a slight whimper, Matt pulled himself to his feet despite the doctor's silent protest. He hurried to Abby's side, unable to keep his curiosity at bay.

"Those are them?" He asked, pointing to side by side pictures of a man and woman.

"Those are them. Pretty brazen husband and wife team, don't ya think? Killing Admirals right under our noses!"

Had anyone been looking, they would have seen the boy's eyes go wide as a look of panic mixed with realization crossed his face.

"I have to go," Matt announced, turning to leave. He was stopped short by a firm hand around his wrist.

"Oh, no you don't, mister!" Abby stood her ground. "Gibbs'll kill me if I let you leave!"

"Not now, Abby!" Matt pulled out of her hold. "I gotta get to that convention!"


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Matt caught a cab at the gate of the Navy Yard, then fidgeted nervously in the back seat till he was dropped at the front door of the Jefferson Convention Center. As he walked into the opulent, dimly lit lobby, he became acutely aware of his lack of any kind of plan. Pacing the room nervously, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed the first number he could think of.

"Yeah, Gibbs," Matt heard his father answer.

"Dad!"

"Matt? You okay?"

"I'm fine," he spoke rapidly, "Look, I know. . ."

In the background Matt heard a commotion, followed by raised voices speaking out of confusion and fear. "I gotta go," Gibbs cut him off suddenly. The next thing the boy heard was the unmistakable "click" as the line went dead.

_Shit_, Matt almost voiced his displeasure aloud. _No help._ As he looked around the lobby, his mind whirling, the doors to the Grand Room opened, revealing a very tired looking Agent Gibbs. Matt was half-way across the lobby by the time the team leader noticed him. The scowl that came instantly to his face told the boy his father was something less than excited to see him.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Gibbs demanded.

For reasons unknown, Matt was very nervous. As it usually did, his nervousness made him speak with his hands, wildly tossing them about as he spoke. "I was in Abby's lab when she got the results from the prints you sent her," he got out quickly, "and I know who the killer is."

"So do I. Abby called me with the results."

"But, Dad, it's. . ."

"I don't have time for this, Matt. Get back to the Navy Yard."

"But, Dad . . ." Matt tried again.

"No buts, Matt! Now! And don't leave again!" He turned and headed for the hall, erroneously assuming his only child would obey his last order.

The young marine thought about doing as he was told for just a fraction of a second before dismissing it completely. He was positive his father didn't have any idea what (and who) he was dealing with when it came to the killer he was after. He didn't even know what he would be looking for. Putting aside all thoughts of the serious repercussions that he was no doubt bringing upon himself, he made his way to the hallway his father had just taken. Glancing up at the elevator lights, he saw that his dad had just gotten off at the 5th floor. Matt really didn't want to take the risk of running into his father again, but with no where else to start, it became his only option.

The athletic young man slipped into the elevator just as the doors were closing. The four other passengers gave him slightly disgusted looks, which made him wonder why. Turning to push the button for the fifth floor, he caught just a glimpse of his still blood covered, swollen face in the reflection of the metallic wall. _I look like hell_, he thought.

One of his fellow passengers got off with him on the fifth floor of the Center. As the broad shouldered man moved right, Matt saw a bone chilling sight. Halfway down the long corridor, his father was just stepping into a room that was cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. Closer to Matt, and walking toward him, were two men of exact opposite stature. One was tall and well built. The other was small and lithe. It wasn't their faces that he recognized- they looked completely different than what he could recall. What instantly made them recognizable to the boy were their hands. Matt distinctly remembered _those_ hands, the ones with the small star tattoos in the webbing of the thumbs, as the hands that put a noose around his neck this morning. _Was that really just this morning?_

As Matt stood stock still, unable to make his feet move in any direction, his eyes met those of the smaller killer. The boy's heart froze as he realized it was recognition he saw there. Matt was desperately trying to make his brain formulate a plan when the man jerked his gaze away, putting a thin hand on the larger man's shoulder and propelling him down the hall, hurrying after him.

As if they had a mind of their own, his feet started going after the two. His head warned him it was a horrible idea, but his feet kept going, even breaking into a jog when the two men ducked into a stairwell. While he ran, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket, then cursed yet again as it clattered to the ornately designed carpet. Picking it up lost precious seconds, and by the time he looked up again, the two were completely out of sight. Despite it all, he kept moving, constantly looking, and again dialed the well known number.

"Yeah. Gibbs," Came the standard answer.

"Dad! I found 'em," he was starting to get out of breath from the chase. "But I lost 'em in the stairwell."

"I don't have time, Matt. What are you talking about?"

"The killers! I found 'em! I lost them in the stairwell."

"You what? Hold on, I'll be right there. DON'T MOVE!"

Matt only sort of heard the last thing his dad said to him, and it certainly didn't register as something he really should do. Instead, he flipped his phone closed and kept running, his head turning left and right in an attempt to locate the objects of his search.

Just ahead, he heard the door to the stairwell slam shut. Coaxing a burst of speed from his exhausted, beaten body, he charged through the steel door onto the seventh floor. A few people milled around the massive lounge, but the men he was sure he would find were nowhere in sight. _What the hell? _

Thinking they had only tricked him, he turned to continue his search of the stairwell. As he spun, he noticed a beautiful young woman exit the men's room. Just behind her was a tall, well built gentleman. Confusion came first, then realization. But it was too late. Before he could fully understand that these were the very people he was pursuing, they rushed toward him. It took the very well muscled man only seconds to sufficiently restrain the young man. Then, as if in slow motion, Matt watched the woman he had previously thought to be a man pull a wicked looking syringe from her small handbag. He watched helplessly, screaming his protest against the man's hand, as the woman uncapped the needle and quickly plunged it into his thigh.

Almost immediately, the muscles in Matt's throat and lungs began to constrict, making it ever harder to breath. The man dropped the boy to the floor like a sack of flour, then he and the woman walked casually toward the carpeted stairs to the ballroom.

_Not this time, you bastards!_ Matt tried to rally himself as he gulped for air. By pure tenacity, he managed to pull himself to his feet and make it to the stairway. As he began to slowly ascend the grand, spiraling staircase, a sudden, intense pain seized his lungs, doubling him over. He clutched the polished dark wood banister, still taking stairs. In a brief, lucid moment, he fumbled for the phone in his pocket.

"Matt, where the hell are you?" His dad's angry voice came over the line.

"Eighth . . . eighth floor ballroom . . . staircase. Hurry," Matt gasped.

As he climbed the last three steps in agony, he was surprised, and immensely relieved, to see his father already approaching him from across the ballroom. Once he was at the top of the stairs, he bent over, his hands on his knees, physically unable to keep himself upright any longer. His peripheral vision was going dark. He was beginning to see spots in front of his eyes.

"What happened?" Gibbs demanded.

"They . . . injected me . . . with something. They . . . went that . . . way," Matt weakly pointed to the right.

"I know, kiddo. We already got 'em," he answered in his best soothing voice.

As if his father's confirmation of their capture gave him permission, the boy surrendered to the darkness that was invading his vision, and he collapsed onto the plush carpet.

The first thing Matt was aware of when he regained consciousness was how he felt like he was suffocating. Panic gripped him for just a second before he realized the source of his discomfort was a plastic oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. He raised an arm to dislodge the cursed thing, but a calloused hand caught his in mid-reach, redirecting his arm back to his side.

"Leave it," a gruff voice ordered. He instantly recognized it as his father's.

Turning his head, he looked directly into the angry- or was it concerned?- blue eyes of Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

"I'm in trouble, aren't I?" Matt mumbled under the mask.

"Oh yeah," Gibbs emphasized, taking a swig of his now cold coffee.

_Just one more chapter to tie everything up. Hope you are enjoying it! _


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Matt was wondering when the storm was going to start as he sat quietly on the ride home from the hospital. Chancing a sidelong glance at his father, he found an almost expressionless face. _This has to be part of the punishment,_ he thought, _this is torture._ He knew it was coming- had even tried to get it over with while he was still in the hospital. The ever opportunistic Gibbs simply told his anxious son that it would keep till he felt better. _That must be code for "when there's no witnesses around."_

That's why it surprised him now, having driven most of the way home, that the proverbial shit still hadn't hit the fan. His dad had said a grand total of two words since he was released, and those were no more than, "You okay?" Truth be told, it was making the youth more than a little nervous.

His nervousness only grew once they arrived home. Matt had showered, and Gibbs had made dinner, which they ate in silence. As soon as he finished, his father made a silent retreat to his basement sanctuary. Matt didn't have to ask where he was going, it happened often enough to know, but this time it annoyed him. In the young marine's eyes, his dad was running away from necessary business. Matt already knew he was up the creek, what was the point in dragging it out?

He thought on this for a few minutes before he found himself pacing the kitchen. _This is ridiculous! _ With his resolve set, he marched himself to the basement.

"Took you long enough," Gibbs said, not bothering to looking up as Matt made his way down the stairs.

"Huh?"

Gibbs glanced at his son briefly before proceeding to drill a perfect hole with an ancient hand drill. "I was expecting you ten minutes ago."

"Yeah, well. Sorry to disappoint you . . . again."

Gibbs gave his son a pointed glare, but said nothing.

"So?" Matt asked, just barely concealing his growing agitation. "You gonna let me off the hook, or what?"

"Nope."

"Then let's do this thing, already! Say what you have obviously been wanting to say since yesterday!"

Without warning, Gibbs threw the drill to the bottom of the boat, taking two long strides to stand just inches from his son's face. "You want me to say what I've been wanting to say? Alright. What the HELL is the matter with you, Matt! When I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it, understood? I say "go", you go! I say "stay," I had _better_ find you _right_ where I left you!"

Matt crossed his arms across his chest, squaring off to the older man. "That's not fair, dad! I tried to tell you! You hung up on me!"

"Tried to tell me when, Matt? When you had already decided that I couldn't catch those two on my own? When you were standing in the Lobby? Where the people who had already tried to kill you were in the process of putting one more notch on their belt?"

Gibbs could tell by the boy's sudden inability to meet his gaze that he had gotten through to him.

"I didn't think you would make the connection," Matt confessed, remorse evident in his voice. "When I saw those tattoos in the pictures that came up in Abby's lab . . . I didn't think you would connect the park murders with the Admirals' murders."

Gibbs, too, let his voice drop to a conversational tone. He moved to one side and took a seat on a saw horse. "Don't you think I've done this long enough to know what I'm doing?" He half-way joked.

Matt cracked a lopsided smile. "I really screwed up, didn't I?"

"Yeah. You did. Five times last time I counted."

"What?" Matt almost choked. "You kept track?"

Gibbs shot him a pointed look. "Of course I kept track. How else would I know how many punishments to dish out?"

"What? You gonna ground me?"

"Thought about it. But you're nineteen- past the age I can legally keep you confined in the house."

"Then what?"

"You'll come to work with me every day for a month."

Matt threw his shoulders back, feeling like he had just dodged a bullet. "That's not so bad."

"You have daily check-ups with Ducky till he gives you a clean bill of health."

"Daily? Seriously?"

"Yeah," Gibbs was deadpan, "Seriously. I have some special chores for you at the office."

"Ookkaay. That all?"

"Nope. Dishes. Every night."

"Till when?" Matt was liking this less and less.

Gibbs glared at his boy, daring him to defy him. "Till I say so!"

The young man shut his eyes tight, exhaling a disgusted sigh. So many biting remarks came to mind that it took a concerted effort to keep his mouth shut. "Done?" He forced with a calmness he didn't really feel.

The older man visibly thought for a moment. "And you enroll in school again next semester."

"Fine. Now are we done?"

Gibbs hefted himself from the sawhorse, tossing a sanding block to the younger man while he did so. He picked his drill up from the bottom of the boat and continued where he left off. "Yup. Now get to work. That third rib needs a lot of attention."

_There you have it. Hope you enjoyed it. I was planning on making it longer, putting in more action, and more of the team, but taking care of my mother in law after surgery has taken up more time than I thought it would. I already have another story in mind, but I need some serious feedback. I don't know if I should keep Matt, or just focus on the team for while. Please, please, please let me know! Thanks for reading!_


End file.
